by Shelt Garner
I’m reading the new book “The Times” about the recent history of The New York Times and I’m taken aback by how aspirational working for The Old Gray Lady continues to be in my mind.
I’m too old for it to be any such thing, of course. And, what’s more, reading the book keeps reminding me of the issue of class. For all my ability to fake a good conversation with someone who works at The Times, there is no denying that in the end, they would dismiss me because of — if nothing else — my socio-economic status.
I’m broke as fuck.
Which, of course, raises the issue of what might happen if my novel is some sort of break out hit (this is just a daydream at the moment). I think, in fact, that being a best selling author would be just about the ONLY WAY that anyone who worked at The New York Times might take me seriously.
Even then, I would be an outsider. I just have to accept that as the old saying goes, “You take yourself wherever you go.”